


Heart To Heart (Melt Me Down)

by moderatelybowling



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, So many tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderatelybowling/pseuds/moderatelybowling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is cold, but then Napoleon strolls into his life.</p><p>(aka i wanted to write angst, closet make-outs, and fluff so i did it ALL AT ONCE)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart To Heart (Melt Me Down)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arose7575](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arose7575/gifts), [nerdytardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytardis/gifts).



> hover over the russian for translations!!! (also i dont speak a single word of russian, sorry about any mistakes!!!!!)  
> also, there's a translation of this fic into русский available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4230016) :-)

Illya Kuryakin is cold. He hasn't always been cold, as a child the chill had never really bothered him. If Illya got cold as a child, he could always warm up again. He treasured the winter nights when he would come in from the harsh wind to his family’s warm home. His mother would be waiting for him with a hot meal, his father warming his feet and reading the paper by the fire. Those had been the happiest days of Illya’s life, the cold days of the long Russian winter that he spent with his family. Everything was perfect in those days, and looking back later he would curse himself for taking them for granted.

The first time that Illya truly felt the cold was during the winter that his father was sent away. Learning of his father’s banishment had felt like being doused with cold water, and that chill never truly left. He felt it in more ways than one. He felt it in the wind that whipped through his clothes, too thin now that him and his mother couldn’t afford quality clothes, his ankles stiff because his pants couldn’t keep up with his growth spurts. He felt it in the stares from the other children in his town, in the looks that the other women throw at his mother. Most of all, he saw it in his mother's eyes when she came home late at night, smelling too strongly of unfamiliar cologne. Illya constantly felt the cold, almost forgetting what being truly warm felt like. It numbed his chest and hardened his eyes, keeping an icy wall between him and the outside world.

When Illya joined the KGB at age 17, he fit right in with his chilly glares and sharp words. He rose through the ranks quickly, becoming their best agent by the time he was 20. He became known as a methodical and ruthless agent, striking fear into men twice his age. He was the perfect soldier, except for his episodes. His colleagues quickly learned that bringing up his past was an awful idea, unless they were hoping for a black eye at the very least. His superiors, however, ignored his behavior due to his otherwise spotless record. Reports about his outbursts were purposely lost, and his psyche evals were performed by nervous staff who quickly wrote him off as having perfect mental health. Blind eyes were turned on his shaky hands, his distant stare.

Illya’s years in the KGB blur by, a never ending cycle of bloody knuckles, split lips, and the ever-present cold. He doesn’t mind. He stopped worrying about the coldness in his chest a long time ago, has stopped expecting it to ever again feel the warmth of an affectionate smile or a safe hug.

Then, Napoleon Solo strolls into Illya’s life.

At first, Solo is just another cold thing, full of stinging words and icy, fake smiles. Illya doesn’t take it personally. After all, Solo is just another irritating partner that Illya will soon leave behind. The only unique thing about him seems to be how easily he gets under Illya’s skin, the way he manages to find Illya’s one soft spot on their first day as partners. He’s gotten better over the years at keeping himself under control, but Solo manages to goad him into flipping a table within five minutes, as if he’s 16 again, like the cold lump in his chest is still new. On that first day, Illya resolves to spend as little time with Solo as possible, to get the mission over with as soon as possible and then never see him again.

The plan does not work out as well as Illya hoped it would. He starts to realize that the situation is spiraling out of his control the night that they break into the warehouse. That’s the night when he almost drowns in the dark water, the cold pressing into him on all sides, rushing into his lungs until it feels like his veins are full of ice. He’s half conscious, moments away from finally giving in to the chill that has haunted him for years, when he feels warmth suddenly wrapping around him, dragging him back up to the surface. The warmth tightens, forcing the ice out of Illya’s lungs, out of his chest. Later, when he’s pressed close to Solo on the Vespa, his back a warm line against Illya’s still sopping wet chest, he barely feels the chill.

After that night, their relationship changes. Solo’s smiles become warmer, and Illya’s eyes soften. They continue to hide bugs in each other’s possessions, but at this point it’s more of a game than an actual sign of mistrust (Gaby decides not to say anything when she finds Illya grinning at his radio, feeling triumphant with the knowledge that Solo had missed the bug in his shoe).

The tentative relationship that they’ve built is tested for the first time in Napoleon’s hotel room, Napoleon trying to defuse the situation, Illya’s shaking hand on his gun (he’s not quite sure if it’s shaking due to anger or at the idea of killing Napoleon). The tension finally breaks when Napoleon throws Illya the watch. Illya feels the ice in his chest start to crack as he wraps the watch around his wrist.

The burning disc is one of the warmest flames that Illya has ever felt.

///

Many missions follow the first, but they never quite blur together for Illya like his KGB missions did. There’s always something that stands out in his memory, whether it be a joke that Gaby told or the sight of Napoleon smiling. The smiles seem to stand out to him the most, for reasons that Illya would rather not analyze. Regardless of how he feels about the phenomenon, however, the warmth that he feels whenever he sees Napoleon grinning wide and open is undeniable. He doesn’t even want to think about the burst of flame he felt in his chest during a mission in Turkey when Napoleon threw back his head and belly laughed at one of Illya’s quips. Illya knows that the emotions that Napoleon brings out in him are most likely not normal for just friendship, but he pushes those worries down and tries his best to ignore the warmth in his belly whenever Napoleon touches him, or jokes with him, or even looks at him.

Yet again, Illya’s plan doesn’t work out exactly as planned. They’re staying in a safe house between missions when it happens. Gaby has her heart set on going out for breakfast, and insists that Illya wake Napoleon up so that he can come along. Knowing the wrath that he’ll endure if he refuses, Illya dutifully makes his way up to Napoleon’s room, frowning when he knocks on the door and gets no answer. Illya sighs as he realizes that he’ll actually have to wake Napoleon up, knowing full well how irritable the American can be when he first wakes up. He opens the unlocked door and slips inside the room. He’s about to call out the American’s name, but what he sees when he looks towards the bed stops him in his tracks.

Napoleon is asleep, sprawled out over the bed on his stomach, completely nude. Illya feels burning heat rise up to his face as he takes in the freckles on his partner’s shoulders, the scars littering his back, the slope of his ass before it disappears underneath the tangled sheets. He must make some kind of noise, because Napoleon suddenly stirs, groaning as he sits up. Thankfully for Illya’s already burning face, the blankets cover Napoleon’s lap. When Napoleon catches sight of Illya, he grins at his expression.

“Alright there, Peril?”

Panicking now, Illya manages to mumble out something about breakfast and Gaby and coming downstairs before he books it out of there, accidentally slamming the door behind him. He shuts himself in his own room for a minute, willing his blush to subside, before he makes his way back downstairs to meet Gaby. She throws him a confused look at his still slightly shell shocked expression, but before she can question him Napoleon makes his way down the stairs and Gaby herds the two of them out the door. Illya stays quiet during the entire meal, listening to Gaby talk and trying his best not to make eye contact with Napoleon. Gaby, bless her soul, doesn’t say anything about the fact that his ears burn red every time he feels Napoleon’s knowing grin directed towards him.

They continue dancing around each other like this for months. Illya doesn’t think he’s blushed so much in his entire life, but he can’t help it when he can constantly feel Napoleon’s gaze burning on him. Or when Napoleon looks at him and wets his lips. Or when Napoleon bends over right in Illya’s line of sight. To Illya, it seems like half the things that Napoleon does are purposely meant to tease Illya. He knows that he should be angry at Napoleon teasing him this way when he obviously doesn’t feel the same way, but he mostly just feels nervous and embarrassed and very, very warm.

///

It all finally comes to a head during a mission in Barcelona. It was supposed to be a simple mission, just sneaking into a warehouse, stealing some blueprints, and getting out. However, they manage to set off an alarm and then end up hiding in a tiny utility closet from the guards. They’re pressed chest to chest, Illya bracing himself on the wall behind Napoleon’s head. As they wait for the guards to leave, Illya glances down at Napoleon. He’s startled to find the American already staring up at him intently. He feels a shiver go down his spine as their eyes meet, that all too familiar heat warming his face and belly. Even in the dim light, Illya knows that Napoleon has noticed his blush. He knows that he should break eye contact, brush it off and get out of the warehouse as quickly as possible, but something in Napoleon eyes has him frozen.

He stays completely still as Napoleon’s hand comes up to rest on the back of his neck.

“Illya…” He inhales sharply at the use of his real name, Napoleon’s eyes still boring into his. Somehow they’ve gotten very close, their noses almost bumping. Napoleon tugs down on his neck, and then he’s kissing him. For one second, it’s perfect, but then Illya remembers himself and pulls back sharply.

“Peril? What’s wrong?” Napoleon is actually pouting when he says it, but Illya refuses to be distracted.

“Do not tease me, Cowboy,” He growls. “I know you do not feel same way.”

Napoleon looks genuinely shocked at that, his brow furrowing as he looks at Illya.

“Peril, have you not been paying attention these last few months? I thought that I made my feelings for you very clear. For god’s sake, I’ve been shooting you bedroom eyes every chance I get for the last two weeks!”

“You mean that-”

“Yes, Peril. I feel exactly the same way that you do…… assuming that you do want this” Napoleon says, somehow managing to gesture between himself and Illya in the small space between them. Illya feels his chest tighten at his words, the fire that’s been simmering there for months finally exploding as he surges forwards and crushes his mouth against Napoleon’s.

Napoleon is quick to open his mouth, wasting no time keeping the kiss soft. It’s messy and dirty and everything Illya’s ever wanted. He moans when he feels Napoleon’s tongue, and feels the American shiver in response. They’re pressed fully together now, Napoleon’s back pressed up against the wall, one hand still on the back of Illya’s neck and the other in his hair. Illya’s hands are all over Napoleon, not able to keep them still now that he’s finally allowed to touch. Napoleon can’t seem to keep still either, his mouth moving from Illya’s to nip at his jaw and then moving down to suck kisses into his neck. Illya has to hold back a whimper when he feels teeth, instead tangling a hand him Napoleon’s hair to keep him there.

Napoleon moans when Illya tugs harder than he means to at his hair, and moving back up to bite at his earlobe. Illya can’t stop the jerk of his hips at that, Napoleon moaning again when Illya’s leg pushes up between his. Illya feels lightheaded as Napoleon starts to move in earnest against him, clinging to the American and moving with him. He knows that they shouldn’t be doing this here, should be getting out of the warehouse as quickly as possible, but he very quickly decides to take a holiday from logic.

For a third time, Illya’s plan collapses almost as soon as he forms it. They both hear the footsteps outside their hiding spot at the same time, Illya wrenching his mouth away from where he had been pressing kisses against Napoleon’s neck and spitting out curses in Russian. Napoleon huffs out an aggravated breath as grabs his gun from his jacket.

“I trust that you’re up to finishing this later?”

“As soon as we are done here, we are finding nearest flat surface. Trust me.” Illya growls back, not looking up from checking his ammo. Napoleon chuckles at that as Illya busts the door down. Illya knocks out the guard before he even has time to shout for help, and then they’re running, out of the warehouse and towards the safe-house where a soft bed and a locking door waits.

///

Six months later, Illya wakes up slowly, warm and content in the bed of a safe-house. Napoleon is pressed up against his side, his head pillowed on Illya’s shoulder and his arm slung over Illya’s chest. Illya smiles at how peaceful he looks in the soft morning light glowing through the curtains. He just watches him for a moment, carding his fingers through his hair, soft and curly now that it’s free of product. After a few minutes Illya shifts his body down the bed so that he’s face to face with Napoleon, making sure not to jostle him too much. He leans forward slowly, pressing a soft kiss to Napoleon's’ forehead. He presses kisses everywhere he can reach, on his cheeks, over his eyes, on the tip of his nose.

"Проснись, моя Голубушка" he whispers, nuzzling his nose against the American’s. He feels the American beginning to stir, hears him mumble happily when he brushes butterfly kisses against his cheek. Napoleon’s eyes finally blink open when Illya pulls back, still blurry and soft with sleep. He smiles dopily at Illya, Illya’s answering grin just as lovestruck. Napoleon shifts even closer to Illya, pressing a soft kiss to his lips and mumbling sleepily about staying in bed as he settles his head on Illya’s chest, right over his heart. As he sighs happily and tangles his fingers with Illya’s, the Russian feels the now familiar fire surge happily in his chest. He directs his attention back towards Napoleon’s curls, hearing him hum happily and settle even more heavily onto his chest.

As Illya lies on the bed, kept warm by the soft sheets and Napoleon’s heat, he decides that maybe staying in bed a few minutes longer isn’t such a bad idea.

They’re both fast asleep again within five minutes, tangled up in each other, comfortable and safe.

**Author's Note:**

> title's from firefly by ed sheeran (which is a FANTASTIC song which i highly recommend and is very illya/napoleon imo)  
> ANYWAY im a garbage heap and this movie has Ruined me. thanks for reading!!!!


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